Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Saturday, 6 November 1875

The cards predict great unpleasantnesses on account of the dark king. It is frightening.
This morning I went out onto the pavilion balcony and watched through my opera glasses a pretty sailing boat for a good while; then I turned toward the castle — but scarcely had I done so than I saw the man at his window, and I went back in at once. He embarrasses me, he confounds me; if he could go away from here he would oblige me greatly. He has never been on the footing of a simple acquaintance — and now, with this coldness, he is on an altogether extraordinary footing.
And that first performance at the Opera — which I was preparing to make so splendid! All to the devil now! I had counted on having the box full of people! Oh, yes — count on that!
No — decidedly nothing goes right for me; it is enough to dash one's head against the wall.
It would be difficult to find a more discouraged person than I am at this moment. And those accursed cards! I can no longer see the Queen of Hearts without anger.
Wait — do you remember that it was Dina who was teased about Audiffret at the very beginning — a year ago? How strange. No — frankly, I must become reasonable and mount my pedestal, raise myself above these miseries. I am so unglued and discouraged that I consent to anything — so long as I do not fall ill. So long as one does not...
Horror! God, take these thoughts from me!
I shall dress and go out.
Has it ever happened to you that everything goes wrong? The hair goes badly, the hat slips at every moment, the flounce of the petticoat tears with every step I take, pebbles get into my slippers and work through the stockings and prick my feet!
We go to the concert, then to the English shop; I order a white flannel jacket and a grey frock coat like Audiffret's — it is quite the fashion, but worn by me it will be new.
We step out of the carriage and after a few minutes I see Audiffret coming with... with Désiré.
"Good day, Madame," says Audiffret.
"Good day, Monsieur," says my aunt at the same moment — and the four of us stop for an instant as though hesitating, then we pass each other; making the most ridiculous position in the world.
There are my Kings of Clubs and Hearts!
We meet them again, and this time I put on a superb expression. That Niçois scoundrel prevented Godard from coming toward me — he practically pulled him back by the sleeve.
My aunt and I are both furious; we go again to the English shop — Manby's — to meet Dina and the carriage, and find the Sapogenikoffs there. I am so on edge that the slightest word throws me into a rage; people ask my advice, I give it in anger, dash through the shop, and conduct myself like a madwoman. The slightest thing — someone says good day to me — and I am furious.
I hold myself back with all fours to keep from hitting everyone.
If you think it is on account of Audiffret, you are mistaken — it is simply because of that ridiculous scene on the Promenade, and because of Godard. It was ugly, ridiculous! But wait. We drive Marie to Visconti's; all along the road I trembled with fear that Dina would invite my Graces to the theatre. Add to that pleasure a wooden box at the back of the carriage whose corner was digging into my calf.
That is not all: passing back along the Promenade, having left Marie at her door, we see Nina and Olga on a bench — and at the very moment we pass, Audiffret goes toward them and brings that imbecile Godard to them. You can picture it! Ah — for that idiot Désiré I shall make myself ill with vexation.
I do not keep my anger inside me — on the contrary, I do not stop talking.
"You know, I am in the mood to go and slap those two women!"
"But is it their fault!" cries my aunt.
"But is that my concern! To do anything I need only want to do it. In a moment's time I would not slap them for a million — but just now I would do it for nothing, and with pleasure. When I feel like it I find everything permissible, everything doable, everything right. But one thing stops me: I would be scandalized at myself. Ah, if only I were married!"
"But my dear," objects Dina, "why?"
"Why? Because then I would step out of the carriage — you see those two Russian shopwomen, I am smiling at them this very moment — well, I would step out and give each of them a slap. Ah, how splendid that would be! What a pleasant sound! But I cannot — an unmarried girl cannot do such things."
"Wait," I continue; "this evening we shall go to the theatre — I shall not take the Sapogenikoffs with me — and we shall see very well who comes and who does not!"
I come home exasperated, wretched — and Frédéric, that accursed dog, throws himself upon me with joy. I go up the stairs and he pursues me with his caresses; I kept my patience to the end — but once in my room I gave him such a kick that he went off howling under the bed; yet after two minutes he came back, wagging his tail and looking at me as though to beg pardon. Oh! Dogs. The way to make one love them even when one detests everything — like me at this moment.
I dress slowly, in white as always, coiffed too as always — lightly and gracefully. Since the sleeves of the gown are rather short I put on long white gloves. I am as well-turned-out as possible.
Barnola came at once to our box, and while he was there the Surprising One made his entrance. Fortunately I was holding the opera glasses before my eyes, for I blushed deeply.
Everyone comes — even Saëtone. Pépino, that enormous telegraph pole, arrives all pink and animated. That great head imagines he can please — imagines one is occupied with him, that one speaks to him for his own sake! He irritates me and makes me laugh! He makes eyes at me! That is what I need, is it not? How stupid men are — they see nothing!
With his upturned moustache — his little moustache above his little mouth.

(continued)

[Marginal note: Pépino, whom I call a brute, was one of the handsomest young men in the world.]
His great black eyes — oh, what a brute!
The piece being given is a grand drama in three scenes — I had time to wait, therefore, and I waited while appearing to be very much occupied with the enormous Gautier, whom I should like to thrash!
I am cheerful; I had feared a general defection — but since they have all come, I am content. I was so afraid!
Yes — all of them, except the Surprising One. But I am not furious.
So long as the others come. He is never like the others: when he is interested he comes at every moment — but the instant another idea enters his head he simply abandons the whole thing and is occupied with nothing further. Last winter it was la Prodgers's mother-in-law, and every day one saw his carriage before no. 17; a little later it was Mlle Bueno, whom he abandoned — and who went off consoling herself with Pépino, just like me. Then in spring came my turn. It is vexing all the same to think that we are wretched passive creatures whom one takes and discards at will.
[Written across: I am too much of a child! At the least sign of him speaking to someone, I imagine things — and then there I am, abandoned flat. Silly goose!]
The man does not stir from his box; with his head thrown back on the armchair he appears to be prodigiously bored.
"He does it on purpose," says my aunt; "he very much wants to come, and he is bored — but he will not come. And he wants to very much, for I have caught him watching us from behind Roissard, observing everything that goes on here."
"Again!" I say. "Always 'on purpose!' Come, Madame — you are being foolish!"
This, of course, is not said before everyone.
"Come along," says my aunt to me, at the exit.
"Yes, Madame — permit me only to gather up my skirt" — and I leaned down so that in rising I might more easily meet the eyes of the Surprising One whom I sensed nearby; and indeed, lifting my head, I found myself face to face with the man, who salutes me with a cold gravity...
I say good evening to him, smiling.
Maman, barely home from Monaco, is not yet asleep, and we go to her to tell her everything.
"But," she says, "people have told me a hundred times — he is like that. Even Ambroise said to me: 'Madame, Monsieur Emile pays court to every young lady — he does not miss a single one.'"
"Yes, yes, Madame," I answer, laughing; "I know it — just like last winter with Bueno, who consoled herself with Pépino — like me."
I go to bed at one o'clock, calm and reassured. So long as the others come — and as for him, well: let us be resigned.

Notes

Monter sur mon piédestal — to rise above things; to take the high ground by reclaiming self-possession. ↩
Décollée — unglued, unstuck; Marie's self-coined word for emotional disconnection. ↩
La musique — the band concert on the Promenade des Anglais; an established social occasion of the Nice winter season. ↩
Je me tiens à quatre — I restrain myself with great difficulty; literally "I hold myself with four [limbs]." ↩
Souffleter — to strike someone on the face; a formal, almost duelling term, more violent and deliberate than the common gifler. Marie uses it as a fantasy of aristocratic vengeance. ↩
Marchandes russes — Russian shopwomen; Marie's contemptuous term for the Sapogenikoff sisters, implying nouveau riche vulgarity. ↩
Plantée-là — left standing there, abandoned flat; the image of being left in place like a planted post. ↩
Serine, va! — silly goose! The feminine of serin (canary), used as a mild term for a simpleton. ↩
Ambroise — a household servant or local informant; the servant-class intelligence network of Nice confirms what Marie's cards predicted. ↩